The Masters is missing Tiger Woods, but what Tiger Woods is missing is far more troubling

On Wednesday at Augusta, by the 4th green, I spoke to Ian, a volunteer hole attendant, in his 10th year on the job.

He told the story of how he got there – a chance meeting with a Green Jacket – then spoke with a quiet reverence about the place, the privilege of being part of it. He was warm and generous with his time. What is the best part of the job, I asked.

“A Tiger surge,” he said, smiling.

“It’s like a tidal wave from three holes away.”

He paused for a moment.

“We’ll miss that this year.”

No mention of DUIs, no tutting, but no warmth or sympathy either. Just a feeling of absence. Tiger is always the story. This is the first Masters since 1994 that features neither Tiger nor Phil. The latter left the main stage early. The game continues to orbit around the former.

The latest DUI incident is most troubling, to me, because of what it represents. This was not a late-night lapse after a few drinks. It was the middle of the afternoon. Broad daylight. That points toward something more complicated than simple recklessness.

Woods passed a breathalyser test, but refused to take a urine test. He relies on medication to manage chronic pain. He has a long and well-documented history of injuries: multiple back surgeries and knee problems.

It doesn’t take much imagination to see how prescription medication can become part of that story. Nor does it take much to wonder how that line between use and misuse can blur.

This is where the conversation becomes less about one incident and more about a pattern. We are talking about something persistent, something unresolved that becomes uncomfortable for the sport.

Golf has always had a complicated relationship with its heroes. It builds them up, wraps them in tradition and reverence, and then struggles when reality intrudes. Woods has lived that cycle more publicly than anyone. From the prodigy who changed the face of the game, to the scandal that brought him crashing down in 2009, to the improbable redemption of the 2019 Masters. His story has never followed a straight line.

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Away from headlines, below the line gossip and tabloid chatter, it seems there is an ongoing struggle that doesn’t fit neatly into a press release or a comeback narrative. There is a pattern of behaviour that suggests addiction.

Of course, there has to be accountability. That much is non-negotiable. Driving under the influence, whether it’s alcohol, medication or anything else, is dangerous. It puts lives at risk. Being Tiger Woods doesn’t change that.

But that is to misunderstand. When people respond to incidents like this, the solutions they offer are often rooted in logic. “He should have a driver.” “Just get a taxi”. It’s a reasonable suggestion on the surface. Practical. Sensible. Easy.

A man of his wealth and status could remove the risk entirely with a simple decision, except addiction doesn’t work like that.

Addiction is not logical. It is not neat, or rational, or easily managed by common sense. It is compulsive, often chaotic, and frequently self-destructive. It overrides the very decision-making processes that those outside it rely upon. To suggest that the answer is as simple as hiring a driver is to misunderstand the nature of the problem.

More than that, it ignores something even more fundamental: what that decision would represent.

To commit to always having a driver is, in effect, an admission. It is a line drawn in the sand that says, “I cannot trust myself in this situation.” And for many people struggling with addiction, that is the hardest step of all. Not the logistics, not the practicality, but the acknowledgement. The acceptance that there is, in fact, a problem. No addict wants that.

Denial is not just part of addiction; it is often central to it. The ability to rationalise, to minimise, to believe that control still exists even when evidence suggests otherwise. From the outside, the solutions seem obvious. From the inside, they can feel unnecessary or even threatening.

This is why incidents like this can repeat. Not because the individual doesn’t understand the risks, but because the grip of addiction distorts how those risks are perceived. It turns what should be a clear decision into something murky and conflicted.

In Woods’ case, could this complexity look like self-sabotage?

His win in 2019 was possibly the greatest comeback story of all time. A Tiger rehabilitated and reinvented, Tiger 2.0. We loved him more than ever. The dead-eyed killer had become the doe-eyed, real-life Rocky. Tiger felt that love through the prism of that success. Conditional then. But for Tiger, love has always been conditional.

It is tied intimately and directly to his success on a golf course. The love he feels from the sport, the gallery and, it would appear, his late father.

In Tiger’s mind, I believe, it is all linked to his ability to hit a golf ball. Tiger loves success, sure. But without success, he feels no love.

The timing then is hard to ignore. This incident came just days before this Masters. Augusta National, a place where Woods has produced some of the most iconic moments in sporting history. Preparation for it is not just physical, it’s mental, emotional, all-consuming. What if he fails? What if he is ridiculed?

What if he runs toward it because he needs it, because he has known nothing else? What if he runs away because he fears failure, which means no love?

And what if he is trapped? Because he can’t be who he thinks he needs to be to be loved and to feel alive, but he doesn’t know how to be anything else? Is that when he self-medicates? Maybe.

None of this excuses what may have happened. It simply places it in context; this DUI does not exist in isolation, it is more likely the visible edge of something deeper, something more difficult to confront.

For Tiger, but also for us. Golf, as a sport, doesn’t always handle these moments well. It prefers its narratives clean and its champions uncomplicated. Here in the serene environs of Augusta National, we show our best side to the world. But real life is rarely so tidy. And Woods, as much as we do not want to believe it, embodies that tension more than anyone.

He is both the game’s greatest asset and its most complex figure. We enable him, because we need him.

What happens next will matter, not just in terms of any legal consequences, but in how Woods responds. Whether this becomes another chapter in a long story of setbacks and comebacks, or whether it represents a real course correction and a chance for him to learn to love himself for being him, not who we want him to be.

As Ian said, there is something missing when Tiger isn’t there, but more importantly, Tiger is missing something, and I, for one, hope he finds it.

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